Fingertip Memories
by Jillian Blair Strikes Again
Summary: This is an AR story based very loosely on a DH event and I stress loosely. Ive taken Fred's death and made my own story leading up to it and continuing after it. It's like Fred's memoirs. Will pick up into FHr romance
1. Just One Night

He was not sure how he knew but he could no longer deny that it was his time to die. It may have been when he was gazing at the stars the night before and while taking in the splendor of the universe, he has suddenly felt awash with melancholy. In that moment he has realized that he would never get another night to admire the simple elegance of stars in the vast evening sky. It may have been that morning when he had been surrounded by his bedraggled family, basking in the glow of their love as they fought over bacon and toast. In that moment he must have realized that he would never enjoy their laughing smiles as if they were his own. In that moment he knew that they would soon belong to someone else.

It would have been easy to break down in front of them, to hold onto them in spite of his destiny, in spite of the plans fate has for him. He could have spent his final moments with them crying and begging to be saved, but that was not how he wanted to be remembered. It was hard for him to admit, because it was a selfish wish, but he wanted to be remembered as strong and courageous enough to face his fate; no matter how much he wanted to live. So, instead of breaking down, he made sure that today would be the day that his family and friends remembered him. In not so many words he told his mother that he loved her and he told his father how much of an influence he had been; even though he would never realize just how true those words would become in the coming day.

His father had taught him that courage was knowing when to fight, when to give up, when to be afraid, and when those fears should no longer matter to the measure of a man. In this moment, he knew that it was time to fight, time to give up his life; even though he was terrified of dying, he knew that it was time to relinquish that fear.

Any other day he would have pushed his mother away when she fondled the stray locks of his ginger hair. But knowing that this would be her last chance his struggle was a half-hearted attempt.

He knew that his death would hit his twin the hardest. No matter how deep a mother's love or a father's pride ran; the bond between twins would always be greater. He knew that his death could very well be the death of his twin, he knew at least, that he could never imagine life without his other half; and on that point he felt a twinge of regret at having to die. Out of all his brothers, his twin would be the one most torn apart by his passing.

The only sibling whose sorrow could possibly rival his twin's, would be that of his youngest sibling: his only sister. He still had fond memories of the day his parents had brought her home from the hospital. He remembered being four and ferocious and he had puffed out his chest and strutted his stuff to the baby sister who couldn't understand. He smiled sadly at how things had soured soon after and over the envy that had plagued him the next few years of her life. He recalled hating her for stealing all his mother's love and affection even though she had really had no control over the matter. But being a twin had been bad enough when it came to a mother's love then it had seemed like all his mother could do was love the only little girl she was ever going to have. He regretted not being there to see her first steps; he regretted not being there to hear her first words; he regretted not loving the little girl who would one day capture his heart. He saw in his eye the beautiful and confidant woman she had become and he wished that he had been there to cherish the vulnerable child that she had been. Eventually she had broken past the barrier of jealousy and he had become her protector and her friend; but he still regretted all the years of her life that he had stubbornly chose to miss. What a blind fool he had been. He felt tears prick his topaz eyes as he wondered who she would share her secrets with now; the secrets that he would take to the grave with him. He wondered who she would seek when her nightmares came and whose shoulder she would cry on when she was too afraid to sleep. She and his twin would be a sad pair indeed when it came to his time to pass on.

However, he knew that if they did not find solace in each other, his baby sister would always have another someone to lean on. If he really felt like blaming someone: that boy would be the most logical choice. If that boy had never met his little brother, had never weaseled his way into the family's heart, had never been the boy that his baby sister had fallen in love with; then maybe he would not have to die. He knew, though, that had none of there events come to pass, he would have robbed his family—and himself—of some of their most precious moments. There were times, however, that he wondered whether they were worth the horrific price that accompanied them; but he had a feeling he would never discover that answer.

He would miss the boy who had captured his sister's heart and who had grown into a man worthy enough to be her life partner and her protector in his stead. He hoped that in some way he had made an impact on that man's life and would be remembered fondly by him as well. His only regret now was that he would never see his precious baby sister be given away to the man destined to replace him in her heart.

There was only one person in his life of which he was unsure how his sacrifice would affect her. He knew that his family and his friends would mourn him but he was unsure of just what he meant to her.

She had become like a second little sister to him but even though she had practically grown up in his house and in his presence he was still unsure of where he stood with her. He was unsure whether she considered him to be family, as she considered his parents and his younger siblings, much less whether she saw him as a friend.

He had met her as a tiny, shapeless, stuck-up, do-gooder with bushy hair and buck teeth but somewhere in between: schoolwork, making friends, falling in love with his younger brother, and trying to save the world, she had become something else. Now she was elegant, not so bushy-haired or buck-toothed, and she had broken her fair share of rules but she was nonetheless determined to always do the right thing. In all the years it took for her transformation to make him notice he couldn't help but wonder how he fit in.

A wry smile donned his hardened features as he wondered whether she still had her history book memorized or whether she still had a bit of a snob in her when it came to things she held closest to her heart—like school. His brother had the right idea of falling in love with her and was lucky to have his affection returned if only for a time.

Still all the knowledge he had of her rambunctious curls, softened features, and tolerance of unruliness left him with an ache to know more. His family's second daughter, surrogate little sister, and his brother's first love and he knew her as well as a man knew the secret of life.

It was ironic that he—the great adventurer—would die for the greatest mystery he would never solve. Saving her would be the first and the last heroic act of his life.

And with just one night he wondered what it would mean to her.


	2. Greater Than Victory

As you have discovered by now most of this is original thought and planning and if you are looking for a copy of the Deathly Hallows--Read the book--this is very alternate reality. To advance the purpose of my plot I have created a different battle in order to introduce the character relationships and developments that I wish my story to have. I will take constructive criticism as any and every aspiring writer should but I will not accept whining about how it is not DH, I am not J.K. Rowling, and I have my own ideals that I wish to implement. SO I wish to stress that this is ALTERNATE REALITY and I have the liberty to make it so because this is fanFICTION.

Greater Than Victory: A Continuation

In his worst nightmares he would never have imagined that this is what dying would feel like. It felt a though something had forced its way inside the very sacredness of existence and began tearing his soul so that there would be no shred left to prove that he had once been real. It was not so much that his life was slipping away from his grasp, but that it was being ruthlessly ripped from the very seams that held his existence together. It must have been too much to ask that after he had finally come to terms with death; that it would just steal him away with no place for pain, no last chance for regret. It seemed that fate would not grant him his final wish and his family and friends would now have to watch him suffer before death finally stole him from their hearts. His only escape from the excruciating pain of dying was recalling the final moments that would soon become the end of his life.

The battle had been raging on for hours and the sight of fallen comrades on both sides showed that victorious or not, no one was destined to win the final war. He had watched almost helplessly as some of his closest friends fell lifeless before his very eyes; and he hoped now that their deaths had not be like his was at this moment. He heard the anguished cries of sorrow and rage and he head the cries of those who had given up because they no longer believed in the cause they were fighting for anymore. The cries of those who had lost all that had ever mattered to them. He knew that even his enemies were human and many of them had family, friends, and had loved just as those he fought alongside. Armed with that knowledge and that empathy he had fought with himself at every blow he delivered, arguing with himself that it was all for the greater good. But he could see no greater good when senseless killing was only a means to an end and each blow he delivered ended a life, that evil as they were, should not have ended so soon. He saw his comrades struggling but it seemed as though the other side had a purpose greater than their own purpose. He knew that this was no fantasy and there was no guarantee that good would survive this world much less triumph over their world's greatest evil.

He remembered growing weary of the fighting and at one moment he recalled wanting to let is guard down, inviting death to take him then and there, to end his witness to the horror and tragedy of war. He knew, however, that his death was meant to serve a purpose. At the moment he realized that he had been fighting against that purpose and she had disappeared from his view. Calling on the last reserves of his strength, he surged through the crowd of bodies, fallen and fighting, to find the girl he was meant to save. He was the sacrifice that would ensure she would live to see the final battle at its end and he would not allow his death to be in vain.

He could recall this intense fear that had raged with his sense of duty, he had lost her in the malicious mob, and he could only hope that he would find her in time. He fought against faces he had shared books, answers, and tables with at school; now strangers to his cause but a part of his memories he struggled to destroy. He fought against faces he would meet in the next life, all so that he could find his way to her. He saw her in the far corner of his vision and in that moment he let his guard down and he fell victim to an enemy's fierce blow.

He recalled falling to his knees, clutching the gaping hole in his side, as he felt his hold on existence begin to weaken. Somehow he knew that this was not the fatal blow but that did not ease the pain of dying anymore than if it had been the killing blow. He saw his attacker approach him with a crazed look worn by many of his enemies and he wondered if this woman would be the one to bring about his end. He allowed his eyes to travel to the girl he was meant to protect, and as she gave her attacker a fatal blow, he wondered how she would factor into his death. His attention returned to his own enemy as her maniacal laughter curled around him and corrupted what was left of his desire to fight. With one arm hanging limply at one side and the other trying to staunch the blood flow of his wounds, he was hardly in a position to fight back. He watched almost achingly as his killer prepared to deliver the fatal blow, soon it would all be over, when out of the corner of his fading eyesight he saw her rush to his rescue.

At that very moment his heart lurched when he saw the fatal blow that was meant to be his end—was suddenly aimed at her. He felt his breathing begin to grow shallow and his world began to fade into oblivion; but he knew if he did not rise, another innocent would lose a life—and it would be his fault. He could not understand why she did not run or why she did not try to protect herself, but part of him knew that it was because he was meant to protect her. His fate was the cause behind her fatal hesitance and he knew that it was time.

For the first time since the battle had begun that day she allowed fear to shine through the shield she had placed in front of her. It was the unadulterated fear of dying in her eyes that made him find the strength to carry out his final act. It was the regret in her eyes that allowed him to throw his battered body in front of her to absorb the blow that had always been meant for him. In that moment he chose to embrace her as icy death stole the last of his strength, no matter what she thought of him, he wanted her to know that she had been important to him.

He remembered screaming as the pain began to warp him but he could not remember if it had been aloud or only echoing in his mind. Now he could feel hot tears burning his cheeks as though even the release was meant to cause him pain. He did not realize that, when it came time to erase his existence, the pain would be worse than all his mortal sufferings could ever equal. He felt his charge struggle beneath him, beating his chest, begging him to get up. He imagined the cry in her voice as she begged him to move, begged him to acknowledge that he was still there, and as she begged him all he wished for was one last look at those eyes.

He felt fire course through his veins, and in the darkness that had enveloped him, he could almost see it burning away his identity. Slowly her cries faded, and even his own, cries and sufferings seemed to succumb to silence. Somehow he knew that the battle had finally been won but he also knew that it had not been worth the cost.

In his last moments he felt a sense of finality permeate the air surrounding the living and the dead. But greater that the sense of victory was the sense of sorrow felt on both sides; of all the loved ones lost for this greater good.

Death would always be greater than victory.


	3. Only A Second

Only A Second: A Destination

The cruel reality was that he was still alive but caught halfway between the torment of dying and the ignorance of death. He felt the warmth of his blood pulsing from his side enveloping his body in a blanket of inevitability. He knew that no one could lose so much blood and hope to live. He could taste the metallic warmth as it pooled in his mouth and he wondered sadistically; how long could dying possibly take. He felt a weight beneath him struggle to push up and with a loud cry he felt his back hit cold floor. It must have been a reminder that his time was up because suddenly all the warmth deserted him and he was left with just the pain. Initially it had been a shock but gradually he accepted the idea of a cold death; it mad it easier to let go.

He could hear familiar voices sobbing his name, one voice in particular stood out to him—the sound of her voice sobbing his name. In a sad kind of way he found comfort in the thought that, if he would never cross her mind again, today, for him—she wept.

He could hear the dramatic sobs of his mother echo throughout the great hall and in his purgatory. Even though she was left with six children to love when he passed, it comforted him to know that he was grieved as an individual. He never did get the chance to actually tell her that he loved her and he was too weak to force the words out now. Perhaps if she never heard those words from him she would not grieve so long. Perhaps it would be easier to live if she lost the burden of one son.

He could hear the quiet anguish of his father; he could imagine the stoic demeanor as he fought to stay strong for his wife and his children.

His twin was cursing every living creature in the world, every dead body around him, but most of all: his twin was cursing him. His twin was cursing his stupidity, his dramatics; cursing his need to be a hero, and cursing him for dying. He could hear the anger, the disbelief, and the horror; and he knew that a part of his twin was dying as well. He wished that he could find the strength to reach out to his other half. He did not want the last words he heard to be the bitter curses thrown about, harsh words he did not want his twin to regret later. However, not even the bond from his twin was strong enough to bring him back from the dead long enough to say a proper goodbye.

His mind passed over his three older brothers and he wondered if they would grieve his passing. He remembered seeing his two eldest brothers as larger—than—life and completely untouchable but most all he saw them as heroes. He remembered how he had idolized them for no greater reason that the fact that they were his big brothers. The other brother had been the biggest snitch but he remembered loving him as well, once again, for no other reason than being his big brother. He realized now that he had never taken the time to bridge the age gap that had held all their affections at bay. He regretted now that he had never told his big brothers that they had made him who he was today. No matter how direct their influence had been.

His younger siblings were another matter and he knew that their grief would rival that of his mother's grief. While he had never been terribly close to his little brother he had seen it as his duty to help his brother find his place at school—and to provide comic relief. He had been a part of his brother's trio, occasionally finding himself with advice to share or a solution to a problem they had. Maybe he had not played a large part in his younger brother's life but it was a larger role than his older brother's had played in his life.

Perhaps the one to grieve him most would be his precious baby sister; it had always been their secret that he was her favorite brother. When he had finally allowed himself to love her, she had made sure that his heart would never recover. He wondered is she would grieve him as her big brother, her confidante, or as her friend. He sadly wished now that he had chose to ignore her and that she would have chosen the other twin. He wondered if she would tell his twin all the secrets that she had told him or if she would allow them to die and start over new. It was selfish of him but he hoped that she would let him keep their secrets; that she would let that past die with him.

He pondered the girl who clutched at his lifeless body as though she were still willing him to respond to her desperate pleas. Something in her voice called to him, the need to respond, stronger than even his own twin's call had been.

Perhaps it had been the surprise in her eyes, when instead of a fatal blow; she had been crushed by a battered body bent on saving her life. Perhaps it was because in all of his life he had never given her cause to see him as a friend, a protector, as a hero.

In that final moment, before the world grew dark, he wondered if she would ever forgive him. He could hear her crying about all he had to lose in life and all the things that she did not have. For the first time in his life he heard her curse; almost ironic that she cursed the very man who made it so that she could live. In his final moments of his purgatory, he heard how much she hated him. She hated him for making his mother weep, for leaving his older brothers with one less sibling to cherish, for killing a part of his twin, and for denying his younger siblings one less brother to look up to for love and guidance. She hated him for giving up his life to save a 'nobody' like her. However, that was all his life had ever been, all he could choose to be was her savior when the final battle was won.

In his head, the screams subsided to choked sobs and he supposed that this was finally the end. In a moment of dark humor he thought that it was about time after the talking to his had just been given. He barely had the energy to express this excruciating pain much less fight against it for his life. As his breath grew shallower to that of a whisper he heard her scream his name. He was vaguely aware that his name was accompanied by a severe beating to his already bruised chest which only made breathing—and living—that much harder.

Perhaps it was better that she despised him; that she loathed his actions enough to beat him that last inch into death. It made it easier to let go of life when you felt like you weren't leaving anyone behind. He had always just been one among many, never an individual: always a brother, always a son, always a twin. Even in death he was only on among many that would lose, or had lost, their lives. His parents had another son and his siblings would always have another brother, so he was unprepared for the scalding tears that suddenly seared his cold flesh. He was caught unawares by the warm cheek that frantically pressed against his own.

He heard her whisper that he had so much to live but as the feel of her tears began to fade from his skin; he realized that his life was only a second in the scheme of eternity.

But, oh, how he wanted only a second to live.


	4. If We Can't Meet

If We Can't Meet: A Journey

He had never realized that death was just another life in itself. The final sounds of her weeping had broken his last hold on hope and he had finally let the darkness win. He soon saw, however, that it wasn't so much darkness that surrounded; but a dull make-up of the reality he had recently occupied. Wherever he was in the universe he had somehow managed to find a carbon copy of the great hall that had been his pyre. Even in death he was allowed no comfort for his heroic deeds; he had hoped that heaven would look something akin to his home. Instead it appeared that he was destined to roam the empty hall of death and relive the moments of great heroism and great tragedy.

He smiled wryly at the fact that he was a hero with nothing to show for his last great act but death. He supposed that was the measure of a true hero: all of the pain with absolutely none of the glory. He didn't mind so much about glory but he would've liked nicer scenery in heaven. The he paused; he wondered if this was heaven, it was not as though he had passed any signs. He had only known that he was going to die, not that his sacrifice would erase the weight of his sins. Who had decided that the ultimate heroic act was the selfless trade of one life for another anyway?

Or maybe he wasn't in heaven because even though he had ultimately sacrificed his own life to save hers; the act had been anything but selfless. The main cause that had driven him to act was because he had been told that was his purpose. No one had directly come to him and said he was going to die but his heart had known what would happen. He had stepped in front of that fatal blow because it was the only thing he could do; not necessarily because he had wanted to die for her. The honest truth was that he may not have chosen to save her life had it not been ordained that he would. He would not deny that he would have helped her but he may not have chosen to step in front of a blow he had known would kill him. If she had died she would have just been one among many, nothing strange or out of the ordinary in battle, other important people had already died; so she could have as well. Instead it was he who died in her place and though the tender fear in her eyes at the fatal moment had compelled him to embrace her; he soon began to regret his rash act. Like any man on the brink of death he realized that he had not accepted death at all and that he was not ready to face eternity; though he knew of no man who ever was ready. It was the only explanation he had for his tragic surroundings for this was most definitely not how he envisioned heaven.

Still, he could not envision his surroundings as eternal damnation or punishment of the kind that had been described to him in life. Of course maybe hell was designed on a personal basis and his punishment would be eternal solitude. All his life he had sought attention from the people around him, good or bad he hadn't cared, just a moment he was distinguishable from his twin. His entire life had been dedicated to making someone laugh, so an eternity alone, he supposed, would eventually become a hell to him. For now, however, it was just empty time for an idle mind to begin regretting all of the things he had never done and many of the things that he had. He supposed that anyone experiencing dying and death would face regret but for all his life he had never regretted anything. So why, in death, did he suddenly have all the regrets in the world?

In the overwhelming sound of silence he suddenly heard a muffled voice shatter his eerie solitude. Slowly figures began to materialize before his very eyes, figures he had left behind when death claimed him. He saw his mother and his father place their bodies as a shield in front of his little sister; as she fell as victim to a painful blow. He saw his two eldest brothers fight to save a child's mother from dying alone. He saw his other older brother stand up against the same men he had trusted only weeks before. He saw his twin fighting to find him in the din of the battle and without any success he wandered deeper into the fight. He saw his little brother and his best friend searching for the Devil himself. He saw her being ripped away from their protective grasp and tossed into the pit of the battle to fight alone.

But most shocking of all, he saw himself, sweeping through the murderous crowd trying to find his way to her. He realized that he was watching the last moments of his life and that all too soon he would be forced to watch himself die.

Perhaps this would be his hell, to watch his death eternally, to see how one act of heroism turned into his desperation to live. It was thrilling, in a sick way, to observe the events that would ultimately lead to his demise in an omniscient third party view. He had never realized how close he had been to her the entire time because those few feet had felt like a hundred miles at that moment. He saw her friends had taken no notice of her absence and he felt a deep-seeded anger burst within his body at their negligence. Perhaps he was an old-fashioned male, one of the few who still valued chivalry, but he could not abide that they had allowed someone so precious to fall behind with no one else to protect her. Knowing her, as little as he did, he knew she would have refused the idea of needing protection. But in an epic battle like this were the fate of the world was in question protecting was needed whether she wanted it or not.

His eyes were drawn back to his own figure and he saw the woman who would become his killer approach from the side. Oh how he screamed in the caverns of exile, begging his figure to listen, to tear his eyes away from the girl and see his own demise approach. He flinched as he saw the powerful blow rip through his side and he realized that as horrific as it looked; it had felt so a thousand times more. It was killing him all over again to see how much blood he had lost initially and how much he continued to lose. He remembered how half of his life had drained out at that moment and how he had begged that death would soon follow. He should have accepted though that the enemy was out for revenge—torture would be his death—but had naively wished against such an end.

He remembered thinking that perhaps she had not been a part of his fate after all; just the wishful thinking of a boy who wanted to die as a hero and as a man. Then he saw that she had taken it upon herself to adopt the role that he should of played—to be his rescuer and his protector—instead of he beings hers. He gazed in awe as he saw the unadulterated fear in her eyes as she watched him fall, but more than that he saw compassion and he saw love. He saw her eyes glisten with unshed tears and he saw her fists clench in determination to save him as she took that fatal step towards his fading figure.

He watched as his killer noticed her intent as well and his heart lurched again as he watched the maniacal glare and fatal blow direct themselves at her. He experienced the horror all over again; of seeing her coming and knowing of nothing that would stop her. He remembered feeling absolutely helpless, unable to breathe, to scream out to her, the edges of his eyes already giving into the darkness that awaited his company. He knew at that moment that his fate had been presented to him and that if he did not gather what life he had left another innocent would have died. Watching now he wondered why he had not considered himself an innocent or why he had never seen his life as important enough to save.

It was in the moment that she hesitated, in the moment he took action that he saw something spark in his lifeless eyes. It was more than the need to protect an innocent, more than the need to protect his brother's best friend; it was the need to save someone that he cared about as well. He watched as his figure gazed into her eyes as the blow hit him, watched as his figure embraced her tenderly despite all the pain. He remembered that in the final moment before the pain set in, when her arms were intertwined with his own, he had never felt more alive. Yes, never more alive than the moment before he died.

He could hear all the mourning again, he could see the body-wracking sobs that wrenched through his mother at the loss of one of her children. He saw his father not nearly as strong as he though he would be, but trying nonetheless to soothe his family's grief. He witnessed his older brothers grieve him more than he ever imagined that such strangers would, familial ties or not. He had to witness the horror of seeing his twin breakdown all over again and that in itself was dying. Now he would bare witness to the anger, the disbelief, and the curses his twin had cast upon his body in the final moments of his life. He knew that they were justified but they had hurt him nonetheless and to hear them again, now with the pain of witnessing his animosity, they hurt even more.

He had been deceived with the notion that there was no pain after death, if anything; it hurt more because there were no distractions.

Perhaps this was hell, eternal pain; this was the idea that had been instilled within him during life.

He saw his younger sister sob uncontrollably into his little brother's shoulder, who tried so hard to be strong but failed so miserably. He watched them share their grief and take solace in each other's arms. It pained him to watch his little sister because his mission in life had always been to save her from being hurt. It pained him to see that he was the cause behind the greatest pain his baby sister had ever felt. His little brother was doing the best he could to comfort her but his sobs only continued to echo hers and they fell apart again.

He had known that his baby sister would grieve him like their mother but he never would have believed that he had meant so much to his little brother. If he had never been forced to watch his own death he would never have known just how much he was loved.

Then he saw her.

He saw her clutching at his seizing body shaking him until he had fallen limp. He relived her scorn and her anger, remembering the pain he had felt at her sharp words, but most of all he remembered her desperate pleas. Just as the cold finger of death had curled around his body he remembered her begging him to live. She told him that his mother needed her son to coddle and his father needed his son to be proud of; she told him that he needed to live for them. She told him that his big brothers needed a little brother to pester and cherish and his twin needed his other half back to be whole again; she told him that he needed to live for them. She told him that his baby brother needed a big brother to look up to and that his baby sister needed a big brother to protect her; she told him that he needed to live for them. Then he saw his figure cave into the darkness just as she pressed her warm tear-stained cheek to his own and he heard her final words that he so much to live for.

But he heard something now that he had not heard then because by the time she whispered it he had already been dead. He heard now though as she whispered that he had her to live for and suddenly she soothed all the pain he had been in. He heard her whisper through her tears that she would never laugh again because he was the only one who had made her laughter real. He heard her whisper that she would never smile again because he was the first person who had made her feel like smiling for the sake of having a smile on her face. He heard her whisper that she would never dream again because all of her dreams had died with him. He heard her whisper that she would never love again because her chance at love had died with him before it even had a chance to begin. He heard her whisper that since her love had never begun it could never end and she would be stuck loving him the rest of her life if he died because he had chosen to save her. He heard her whisper that he may have saved her body but he had broken her heart and had taken the shatters with him to the land of the dead.

In that moment he realized why he was unable to move onto heaven or to hell or to just being dead—he was in love with her. He realized now why his act was not selfless because whether he lived or died mattered not at that moment; just the need to save her and nothing would have been able to stop. Yes, it was the prophecy that had prepared him but it was not what drove him—it was love. His desperation at the end was not the selfish want to live but the selfish want to let her know that he loved her; the one person he was sure who did not know that he had always loved her in some way. This, however, was not the love of a big brother, no, he had discovered the love of a man—and it was for her. He understood now that all his regrets boiled down to one tragic conclusion—being unable to tell the person who mattered most that he loved her.

He gazed in rapt attention as she raised her head and swept her bloodshot eyes across the sorry sight of his grieving family. All of them eventually came to stare back at her and watched as she turned back to his still figure. He watched as she tenderly cupped his ashen face and he saw his family watch with abated breath as well when she leaned in to place a clumsy kiss on his cold lips.

Even now he felt a tug at his heart strings as she placed kiss after kiss after clumsy kiss on his ashen features. Even now he felt the warmth on his face from her gentle touch and as she returned to his lips for her farewell kiss he felt his own lips tingle in response. He felt her warm lips move clumsily against his own almost as if—as if he himself was being kissed.

In that moment he realized that the tug on his heart strings had been a tug back into his body, and for a few God-given moments—he was alive again. For now, he was alive enough to feel her kiss and for a few moments he was alive enough to respond. He struggled to raise a hand feeling awful for giving his family false hope, but wanting to feel her hair and memorize the very feel of her before her died again, he struggled on. He wanted so much to pull her close for this would be their first, last, and only kiss…ever, and he wanted to remember everything about her that he could.

He knew that they would never meet again in life but he thought to himself—if we can't meet in death either—he would always want her to remember their first, last, and only kiss…forever.

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All right. I have a resurrection theme that I am not sure I want to present and I would like some reader opinion. This makes an ending as well and I am concerned whether any further elaboration would ruin the tone of the story or if any reader is interested in exploring the resurrection theme. All opinions are welcomed and will be taken into consideration.


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